George’s tuning has been rescheduled for next Saturday. He was very upset that the tuner had to cancel again, this time because everyone in western North Carolina was snowed and/or iced in Saturday morning. So George was in a foul mood. The more I played him, the crankier he got. And he reached his nadir of misery when I drilled single measures of the Dett piece over and over again. Parts of it are rather dissonant, and they can sound really annoying when you’re practicing the same measure or half-measure twenty times over. Even on an in-tune piano. George didn’t appreciate the 20th-century-music treatment at all.
Then the D-flat two octaves above Middle C—the one that plays a vital role in my Chopin Nocturne—went out. Stopped playing altogether. No matter how lightly or cajolingly I struck it, I only got complete silence in return.
That was George’s way of saying, “If you won’t take care of me right, then I’m not going to talk to you anymore.”
Then the Hubster came into the Inner Sanctum to visit, and when he sat down next to me on the piano bench, George lashed out at him. Popped him on the knee, and now the Hubster has a big ole bruise on his knee.
I don’t blame George. It’s not completely my fault; I called the tuner well before Christmas, but the tuner was busy with Christmas-tuning and couldn’t come until January. And now, for two weekends in a row, we’ve had ice and snow. Poor George. Poor, pitiful George.